Free Words of Stone by Kevin Henkes Page A

it out of his mind. After all, he had something new to concern himself with: Joselle Stark. She had said they were true friends—and yet they barely knew each other. If they did become true friends, maybe he could tell her about the words of stone. Maybe she’d know what to do.
    A spider hanging motionless in its web caught his eye. The web was a perfect, intricate hexagon strung between two posts of the porch railing. Blaze didn’t like spiders particularly, except from a distance. He pictured Joselle Stark approaching this spider easily and touching it with her finger. Blaze knew he would go to the hill tomorrow. He wondered if she would be there.

14 BLAZE
    â€œF or the first couple years of your life, you were probably no bigger than a salt shaker,” Joselle told Blaze, cupping her hand and holding it out to indicate size. “In fact, it’s probably a miracle you lived. I’ll bet your parents have photographs from when you were three, but they tell you they were from the day you were born.” Joselle brushed a tangle of hair away from her eyes. “Parents do things like that,” she added crisply, snapping her fingers.
    Blaze wondered exactly what Joselle meant. She confused him completely, but at the same time she spoke with such authority that he was compelled to accept as true everything she said. “I was little, but not that little,” he mumbled at last, blushing a bit, opening and closing his fists.
    â€œBelieve what you have to,” Joselle said, shaking her head.
    It was only their second time together. They were sitting beneath the black locust tree, within the semicircle of Blaze’s stones. He hoped that Joselle wouldn’t ask about the stones, or worse, move them. Whenever Joselle poked at them with her foot or gazed at them for what seemed like a long time, Blaze felt a small tremor in his leg. He could never explain his stones to this curious girl who reminded him of wild, impish, confident children he had only known in books.
    â€œWant some?” Joselle asked, lifting the necklace of popcorn she was wearing over her head and offering it to Blaze. “Popcorn. Fresh popcorn,” she called, making her voice sound important.
    â€œThanks,” said Blaze, pulling off a few kernels. Bewitched, he handed the necklace back. Each time he chewed and swallowed, his teeth creaked and his throat tickled.
    â€œI always get the hulls stuck on my teeth. And always my tooth with the micro-dot,” Joselle said.
    â€œWhat’s that?”
    â€œIt’s this teensy-weensy thing printed on my tooth with my name, address, and birthday. You can’t even see it with the naked eye. I used to think it was really neat until I realized it would only do any good if they found me dead. You know, to identify me.”
    Blaze tried to absorb this, but his mind kept stumbling on the word dead. It made him shiver. And of course, he thought of his mother. He could see an image of her, memorized from a photograph, so clearly among the leaves above him that he thought he could make the image stay there forever. But the breeze fluttered, the leaves stirred, and she disappeared. “My mother is dead,” he heard himself say.
    For once, the girl seemed to be at a loss for words. Wrapped in absolute silence, Blaze watched her. Joselle twisted her popcorn necklace, then pushed and pulled pieces of popcorn as though she were moving counters on an abacus. She appeared to be so deep in thought that Blaze wondered if he could see what she was thinking in the air around her if he looked hard enough.
    â€œWell, you’re not the only one,” she suddenly blurted out, one large tear sliding down her face. “My father is dead.” She placed her necklace over Blaze’s head, draping it crookedly across his shoulders. “Welcome to the orphans’ club,” she sniffed. “The saddest club of all.” Then she kissed his cheek sharply and